


Special Delivery

by sexypliergrumps



Series: Pizza Boy and Redneck Are So Kinks [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Hair Kink, Hate Sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Threesome, hints of breathplay, is redneck a kink?, pizza boy is the new school boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexypliergrumps/pseuds/sexypliergrumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His plan to move down south and pick the shittiest job ever had not included being a two-bit redneck boy whore. The fact that the Dixon brothers were sick, twisted and really hot in a grimy-and-terrifying way was not his fault even a little. And the situation he was in was their fault. All of it. </p><p>Or; Glenn is a pizza boy who delivers a lot more than pizza. Not that the Dixons are complaining</p><p>Sequel/Inspiration for One Night Only Offer, but can probably be read separately.</p><p>Rating: they bang and it's kinky</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Delivery

When Glenn moved away from his father to the most “trailer trash” place he could remember ever passing through on one of their many “we’re strong independent Korean architects (actually architect and fed-up teenage son) who don’t need no directions” bonding trips that his father made them take together, he really didn’t expect to end up on his knees on the stained carpet of an entrance hall on the outskirts of Atlanta, getting his pizza place uniform (read; horrific mismatched-colour monstrosity) dirty as he delivered his “favourite” costumers “usual extras”.

Really. His plan to move down south and pick the shittiest job ever had not included being a two-bit redneck boy whore. He’d just wanted to have the satisfaction of knowing that every time his old man boasted about the daughter in veterinary school and the other daughter in AP English, band and chess club, he’d have to ‘fess up that his oldest child and only son delivered pizzas in the “international epitome of ignorance” that was the south.

The fact that the Dixon brothers were sick, twisted and really hot in a grimy-and-terrifying way was not his fault even a little. And the situation he was in was their fault. All of it. Especially the part were Glenn thought all week about Saturdays; about getting the order which was always his, about driving like a fucking maniac into the fucking sticks to deliver a pizza covered in so much meat and spice and heterosexuality it almost burnt a hole in the box, about…

About Daryl opening the god damn door with that fucking smirk, like it was Glenn who kept bootycalling the Dixons, not the exact fucking opposite. Daryl’s hard, hard in his fucking ripped, grimy, stupid jeans as he grabs Glenn by the shirt collar and drags him bodily, pizza and all, inside.

Daryl throwing the pizza onto the scuffed wooden unit and pushing Glenn onto his knees, one-handedly unbuttoning his fly as he cards his other hand through Glenn’s hair. The fucking rumble of a laugh that comes from one of the doors leading of the brown on brown on brown little hall, this time the kitchen, making his eyes dart to where Merle stands, beer in hand, watching them.

“Hey there, gook. Can’t believe you keep comin’ back.” It’s the same stuff every time. Merle is a total dick about how much of a slut Glenn is and then the three of them get their ménage on. Usually, like now, Daryl has his dick down his throat so fast he can’t get a comeback out, hand gripping his hair and the other beckoning Merle over and swiping his beer. _God damn fucking rednecks_ , Glenn thinks as he swallows around Daryl’s dick.

Daryl uses his ever present gip on his hair ( _like, seriously dude, what the fuck is it with you and my hair?_ ) to pull Glenn off and practically throws him onto his feet and into Merle, who grabs him by the throat (which Glenn totally doesn’t think is sexy, like at all) and drags him into the kitchen. The countertop (which Glenn swears cannot be a fit place to prepare food, the amount of times these assholes have used it for completely unsanitary activities) digs into the small of his back as Merle chucks him against it and smirks that smirk, the same fucking smirk as his brother at him.

“Pants off, pretty boy.” Merle chuckles to himself and continues. “Ya’re here for the meat lovers’ special, right, china doll?” It takes everything Glenn’s got not to collapse onto the dingy linoleum cackling like a lunatic. From the hall, Daryl has no such restraint, but the snorts are accompanied by the _click_ of Merle opening another beer and the _whump_ as Glenn’s pants hits the floor.

He plays with the buttons of his shirt, looking at Merle through his eyelashes. “Now what, Daddy?” Merle blinks, as if remembering that, yes, his regular pizza boy/fuck toy does in fact have the daddy kink to end all daddy kinks and takes a swig before setting down his beer. “Now, china doll, me and Daryl are gonna fuck ya open so bad ya won’t be able to get back on that pansy little scooter of yars.”

Glenn purred (fucking _purred_ , what the actual fuck) and, instead of letting Merle rip open his shirt like he wanted to, unbuttoned it as fast as his totally-not-shaking hands could manage, watching Merle lazily undo his jeans, heart thumping so loudly he could barely hear the sound of Daryl’s boots coming up behind him.

And then Daryl’s hands are on his chest, tweaking almost-painfully at already-very-hard nipples, dragging down the shirt and trapping Glenn’s arms in it, before completely wrapping his arms around Glenn and lifting him bodily onto the counter. All the while Merle just swigged his fucking beer and smirked his fucking smirk. Smirky redneck twat.

Glenn squirmed ‘round, arms still bound up in his shirt and tried to turn the tables. Wiggling his sheer-white-boxer-clad ass at Merle, he squirmed forward towards Daryl and planted a love bite right next to his navel, grinning up at Daryl with his eyes, relishing the little “fuck, china doll” it drew from the other man, before pulling his dick back into his mouth and doing his best impression of a vacuum cleaner.

Daryl jerked when Glenn made a noise of surprise, which was all Merle’s fault for planting a harder-than-playful slap on his rear before literally _ripping_ off his boxers (and they we’re new!). Merle groaned and, without any goddamn warning, the prick, pushed what felt like two of his thick, callused fingers into Glenn’s ass.

The noise Glenn made around Daryl’s dick would have been enough to drive a normal man over the edge, but not a fucking Dixon. No, the Dixons had the stamina of marathon runners, goddamn assholes. “God, ya’re such a little slut for it.”

Merle was working his fingers further into his ass. “Ya get all greased up at home, sit on some fat toy, whimperin’ for our cocks?” He twisted his fingers inside Glenn, tearing the closest thing to a moan someone can make when they have a mouth full of cock out of him.

 “Or d’ya shove yar own fingers up here in the little bitches’ room at work when our order comes in, getting’ all worked up and tryin’ so damn hard not to make a sound?” He pulled his fingers out and, without so much as a “by your fuckin’ leave”, made it pretty impossible for Glenn to keep quiet.

Some kind of silent communication must have gone on between the brothers, because suddenly the hands on Glenn’s hips and the ones in his hair were moving in tandem, pulling him backwards and forwards, just enough that he didn’t feel like his nipples were gonna be chafed off, but enough to have him squirming and, fuck Merle for being right, whimpering in the middle of the fluorescent-tube lit kitchenette. 

And Merle’s chuckling and Daryl’s moaning and barely holding it together and it’s become some macho contest between the pair of them, like it always fucking does, fucking dickwads, but like almost always, Glenn sides with Daryl and starts doing wonderful things with his inner muscles that draw a litany of curses out of Merle, some so filthy Glenn is sure Daryl is blushing as he looks down at Glenn and thanks him by running a thumb along his cheekbone.

And, like almost always, it’s Glenn who comes first, all over his ruined boxers (which he’s still mad about, damn it) and the scarred kitchen counter, and like every fucking time it’s like he’s gonna black out or something; his legs _shake_ and he lets out this high pitched keening noise around Daryl’s dick.

Which of course means Daryl just gives up and pulls back enough to get cum on Glenn’s chin and lips, as well as in his mouth and on his nose, which is totally fine, see, ‘cause Glenn is just that fucking kinky. Merle chuckles and _picks up the pace,_ somehow, finishing off just as Daryl leans over and grabs a dish cloth, which he uses to get the worst of his own cum out of Glenn’s nostrils.

Daryl pushes Glenn and Merle uses his still-shaking legs as leverage as they get him back on his feet, which he promptly trips over, falling straight into Merle’s chest. “Ya’ll fucked out china doll?” Glenn murmurs something that might have been “fuck you” or “fuck yes” and lets Merle fucking bridal-style him to the shitty sofa in the brown on yellow on beige lounge. Somewhere in the background is the sound of a microwave going ‘round.

Merle settles down on the squeaky sofa (which had been squeaky before Daryl had fucked glenn into it, thank you), with Glenn half-sprawled in his lap, both of them sort-of-watching whatever shitty action movie was playing on the tv, Merle running his hands gently through Glenn’s hair. Because a naked Asian kid getting aftercare from a brute of a redneck still wearing all his clothes wasn’t unusual.

Daryl came through with the pizza and, having being handed over by Merle, Glenn accepted the piece that Daryl offered him. Not his own piece, of course, but a piece he had to eat from Daryl’s hand. Merle chuckled and Glenn was certain he heard the word “kitten” in their somewhere. He was too damn tired to care.

The morning found Glenn sprawled out on the couch, covered in a threadbare blanket. There was a note on his face, written on a piece of cardboard torn off the pizza box. “Clothes and cash in the kitchen,” the hasty scrawl read. “Help yourself to beer or tap water. See you next saturday.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope my first work for this fandom wasn't too bad C: Reviews welcome, even the rude ones


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